


Broken Men

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-03
Updated: 2007-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Sam's not stupid. He knows he's being used; he just can't bring himself to care. Well, not enough to stop it, not enough to say no.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam's not stupid. He knows he's being used; he just can't bring himself to care. Well, not enough to stop it, not enough to say no.

It's messed up, and it's wrong, but it's not Dean's fault. It's Sam's fault. He started it, back at Bobby's, when they were both so broken that he though they'd never recover. He crawled into Dean's bed, with a whispered, 'please?' and took everything Dean could give him. He knows Dean well enough to know that he wouldn't say no to it – to anything, really, that involves sex.

But it's not Sam that Dean wants. It's any warm body, any welcoming arms. Most nights, Dean goes out looking for it. Far more often than he did before Dad died. He disappears for hours, and comes back tipsy and smelling of smoke and sex. Sam stays in, watches TV and emails those of his Stanford friends who still bother to email him back.

Some nights though, some nights the hunt goes on too late or they're miles from the nearest bar. There's no one else for Dean to turn to, so he crawls into Sam's bed in the dark hours of the night, and Sam lets him, lets him take pleasure and relief because he's too weak to say no. He wants it too much, even though he knows he's just a replacement for any other willing body. He feels Dean shudder as he comes, then pause for a tiny moment as he gathers his brain back and then he slips away, back to his own bed. Sam lies awake for hours, wondering why he can't say no, wondering why he keeps holding onto the faint hope that one night, Dean might stay.

In the morning, he can't meet Dean's eyes until he's had a shower, until he's had time to wash away his desperation and put his just-brothers façade back on. He doesn't want Dean to see what he's hiding, doesn't want Dean to know how much more he wants when all Dean wants is someone to fuck.

 

****

 

Dean's not blind. He can see the shame in Sam's face as he slips into the bathroom without meeting his eyes. He knows he's causing his brother pain, but he just can't stop. He tries to drown himself in other people, tries to fuck away his unnatural feelings with strangers, but it's not the same. The nights he can't get away, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to tell himself, 'not tonight, not tonight', but inevitably he finds himself getting up and crossing to Sam's bed. Maybe if Sam didn't open himself up to him, maybe if he said no....but Dean knows his brother, and he can't blame him for this. Sam's just trying to help him – like he was the first time it happened. Looking into Dean and seeing the one thing he needed to put himself back together after Dad's death, and offering it selflessly.

He never offered again, but he doesn't say no, not when he thinks Dean needs this. Dean tries not to think about how much he needs this, how none of those others can ever give him this. He runs his hands over Sam’s body, traces his skin with his mouth and tries to pretend that Sam wants this as much as he does. Afterwards, he always pauses, always waits to see if Sam will put his arms round him, want him to stay, but he never does. Dean knows he never will – he doesn't want this, he doesn't need it. He's just trying to help his brother.

Dean waits as Sam spends half an hour in the shower, steam billowing from the crack under the door, and vows to himself that it will be the last time, but he already knows that it’s a lie.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Dean had escaped to the nearest Starbucks as soon as he was dressed. The motel room had still smelt of sex when he'd woken up and Sam had already disappeared into the bathroom for one of his long, hot showers. Dean had to get out of there and get away from the signs of his failure as a big brother. He was meant to protect Sam and look after him, not subject him to something that clearly made him so miserable.

He opened the newspaper and started scanning for articles that set off his radar. The sooner they got out of town, the better. Maybe then Dean would be able to leave these sick feelings behind and get back to being the brother Sam deserved.

 

 

****

 

 

Sam cranked the heat up on the shower even higher. The water pressure sucked, but at least it was hot enough to turn his skin red. He heard the door of the motel room shut, and let out a breath. When Dean came back, hopefully he'd have a new job for them, and then they'd be able to take off and leave this behind. They could start trying to pretend that nothing had happened here, that Dean hadn't spent last night in his bed, making him feel like his skin was on fire.

He'd been unusually gentle last night – most of the time it was desperate, passionate and hurried, as Dean tried to get off as quickly as possible so he could escape his brother's bed and Sam tried to take everything he could from Dean before he disappeared. Last night, though, Dean had kissed his way across Sam's body as if it was special, as if Sam was someone he wanted to be with as opposed to just the nearest warm body. After they'd come, Dean hadn't left immediately; he'd held still for a moment and then kissed Sam gently on the lips. Sam had shut his eyes, and pretended for a moment that this was something Dean wanted, but when he'd opened them it was still too dark to see Dean's face, and the truth was too obvious, even to him. He'd let his hands slip off Dean's waist to the bed, and Dean had gone back to his own bed a moment later, no doubt with relief.

Sam popped open the shower gel and scrubbed himself with it roughly. He had to remember what this was – it wasn't Dean wanting him, it was just sex, just a need for some release. Dean had just been trying to show his gratitude that Sam let him do it. Sam snorted to himself – as if he would say no to something that was so close to what he wanted. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to concentrate on repressing what had happened last night. He needed to push back the memories until he could look at Dean without an action replay, otherwise he wasn't going to be able to get through a day in the car with him without either pushing him up against the side of the car and attacking his mouth with his tongue, or bursting into tears, or both.

He opened his eyes again and picked up the shampoo. He could do this. He could get himself together.

 

 

****

 

 

He was shoving the last of his stuff back into his bag when Dean came back, holding a newspaper and a coffee for Sam.

"So," said Sam, taking the cup and trying to sound normal, "You find anything?"

Dean had pulled out Dad's journal and was flicking through it. "Yep," he said. "There's been five suicides in Alton, Illinois, in the last few months. And," he said, finding the page he was looking for, "Dad has a note about it having a lot of suicides as well."

Sam nodded and stood up. "So, what, you think a spirit is influencing people to kill themselves?"

Dean shrugged. "Could be. Let's go and find out." He picked up his bag and headed out the door.

Sam wondered if the smell of sex was still so obvious that Dean had to rush away that quickly, or if he was just antsy to get on the road. He glanced round the room to make sure they hadn't left anything, and followed.

 

 

****

 

 

It took them most of the day to get to Alton and by the time they drove into town, the events of last night felt like a dream. Dean went straight to the Super 8 Motel, and booked them a room under the name of 'Malcolm Young.' Sam took one look at the steakhouse that was only a block away, and felt his arteries groan in anticipation of their diet for the next few days.

It was late by then, and neither of them were really in the mood for a late-night research session. They had dinner - in the steakhouse as Sam had predicted - and then Dean disappeared to find a bar. Sam went back to the motel, trying not to feel betrayed or upset, watched a very dull film with Freddie Prinze Jr in it and fell asleep before it ended. A few hours later, he woke up enough to hear Dean come in. He lay still as Dean turned off the TV and then stood for a moment by Sam's bed. Sam pretended to be asleep, unwilling to make conversation with Dean while he no doubt reeked of whoever he'd found to fuck. Dean must have been taken in, because he turned away after a moment and went into the bathroom. Sam drifted back to sleep, only vaguely aware of the sound of the shower starting.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean was walking through their old house in Lawrence, down an endless burning landing. When he made it to the nursery, Sam was lying on the floor with his arms pillowing his head, looking up at their mother, who was pinned to the ceiling with blood dripping from the wound in her stomach.

He looked relaxed as he turned to Dean with a smile and said, "I was worth it."

Dean frowned and took a step backwards, which made Sam's nursery dissolve into a hospital room. His dad was dying on the bed in front of him, and the doctors couldn't save him - Dean couldn't save him. He watched as they shocked him again and again and again, feeling helpless.

"The thing is," said a voice behind him, and Dean turned to see his dad there, watching the doctors as they worked to save his life.

"The thing is," continued his dad, "I'm not sure you were worth it."

The machines continued to flat-line, and a doctor pronounced, "Time of death: 10:41."

 

Dean awoke with a gasp and sat up, just staring at the wall in front of him for a moment. He glanced over at Sam, who was still sleeping. He looked younger in his sleep, and more peaceful. Dean couldn't help but compare Sam's face with the way it had been the previous morning - shuttered and stressed. He sighed, told himself that he was a fool for making Sam upset, and then got out of bed. It was only just dawn, but he didn't think he would be able to get back to sleep after that nightmare.

By the time Sam woke up, Dean was dressed and had already gone for coffee. He was reading over the newspaper articles about the case, and was well on his way to making himself forget about the dream.

 

 

****

 

 

Sam glared at Dean as he shifted uneasily on the couch in Mrs Nichols' sitting room.

Mrs Nichols finished wiping her eyes with a tissue and then looked back at them. "I'm sorry, officers, was there anything else you wanted to know?"

Sam gave her his best sympathetic look, "We understand this is a very difficult time for you." He paused just long enough to imply his hesitance at bothering her with more questions. "Did your husband act strangely at all in the weeks before his death?"

Mrs Nichols frowned slightly. "Well, he was depressed, of course. He wasn't sleeping well, he was irritable...he had a couple of strange moments - panic attacks, I suppose. But..." she paused, and stared down at the tissue in her hands. "He killed himself. The doctor said that kind of thing is normal."

Sam threw a quick glance at Dean, who shook his head slightly. There didn't seem to be anything else to ask. They both stood up and Sam said, "We're very sorry for your loss," and managed to sound like he actually meant it as they left. Dean was impressed.

Sam waited until they were in the car before pointing out the obvious. "It sounds like a normal suicide."

"I know," said Dean, starting the engine and pulling out.

"Guy's depressed, and then he tops himself. It's not exactly screaming the Twilight Zone," Sam continued.

"I know," repeated Dean, with more intensity, "But it's too much of a coincidence that four other people all killed themselves at the same place on the bluff."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe that's where the best view is."

Dean shot him a look at the uncharacteristic callousness. "We should at least talk to the other families to see if they can tell us any more."

Sam looked for a moment as if he was going to argue further, then nodded.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean pulled up outside an apartment block on a busy street and they got out of the car. He glanced down the street as he shut his door and then froze in shock.

His father was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at him with a frown of faint disapproval. People were walking past him without giving him a second glance, as if there was nothing weird about a dead man standing in the street. Dean just gaped at him.

John raised his arm and pointed straight at Dean, then turned and walked away, through the crowd. Dean shook off his paralysis and chased after him, pushing past people. His dad went round a corner but when Dean reached it, he'd disappeared. He stood, staring at the street in front of him, breathing heavily.

"Dude, are you okay?" asked Sam from behind him.

Dean glanced around, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary now. "I'm fine," he said curtly, "just thought I saw someone." He turned back to the apartment block. "Let's go see what Tracy's parents have to say."

Sam was still frowning as they walked back up the street, but Dean was too distracted to notice, scanning the faces of the passers-by.

 

 

****

 

 

The other interviews didn't reveal anything new - just a lot of troubled people who'd gone up to the bluffs one day, but never come down. Frustrated, Dean drove them up to the spot on the bluffs that they'd all gone to, and they pulled out the infra-red and the EMF reader.

"There's nothing," said Sam, shutting off the infra-red with a sigh. "There's nothing here, Dean."

Dean looked down at the EMF. "Well, EMF is showing something." He swept it around for a bit, but the meter didn't read anything higher than 4,000, so he sighed and turned it off. "Nothing big though. Might just be a shade."

Sam nodded gloomily, then turned back to the car. As he walked back down the slope to the road, he raised his arms high above his head and stretched, making his tired shoulders click. The action made his shirt ride up and his jeans slip down, so that a strip of flesh just above his hips was exposed. Dean found himself unable to look away from it as he remembered the way it had tasted, the feel of Sam's skin beneath his mouth.

The night before last he'd allowed himself to treat Sam like he always wanted to, stroking every part of skin he could find, and indulged in the fantasy that this was okay - that this was something they both wanted. For a few minutes he'd thought it was - Sam responded with a series of moans that were the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard. Then, when it had all been over, he'd taken the chance, and stayed in Sam's bed for a minute longer, pressing a kiss against Sam's lips. Sam's hands had slipped from his hips, and Dean remembered with a sudden rush that Sam was just trying to make him feel better. There was nothing more behind this than Sam's desire to help his brother. He'd gone back to his own bed, cursing himself for letting this get so far.

He gritted his teeth and clenched the EMF reader in his fists. He needed to get this out of his system, before it started to really mess up their relationship. Maybe if he found someone tonight - someone with an easy smile who was willing to find a dark corner with him - and he fucked them hard enough, it would be enough to drive this thing from his mind. He headed back to the car, ignoring the voice in his head that was reminding him that that hadn't helped the other hundred times he'd tried it. It had to work eventually, after all. There was no other way.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean took them back to the steakhouse again for dinner. Sam didn't say anything because Dean had been distracted all afternoon and he didn't want to risk an argument, but he was pretty sure his thoughts weren't a secret.

"Right," said Dean, "We've got five suicides in the same place over the last month or so and a history of suicides in the area, but no real pattern or connection between the victims."

"And only a trace of EMF at the site," said Sam, poking at his fries and wondering if he could stomach any more grease.

"Is that enough to keep us here another day?" asked Dean. He'd cleared his plate already, and was eyeing Sam's uneaten food.

"Well, we could do some more research - look for any links, see if the history shows anything that might give us a clue." He pushed his plate towards Dean, and was rewarded by a quick grin before Dean started on Sam's fries.

"Well, I'd hate to deny you the chance to geek out in a library, college boy," said Dean, around a mouthful.

Sam rolled his eyes and sat back as Dean finished his food off. Dean was focussed entirely on the plate in front of him, and Sam recognised his expression as similar to the one he had when he was concentrating on a hunt.

He idly wondered if Dean looked the same when he was having sex, giving the person he was with his full attention. Sam quickly vetoed the thought, glancing anxiously at Dean in case he could tell where Sam’s mind had wandered to. It did Sam no good to think of such things - that wasn't how it worked between them. It was always pitch black when Dean initiated it - probably so that he could pretend Sam was someone else - and Sam would never know the expression on Dean's face.

Dean sat back with a sigh of contentment and signalled the waitress for the check. "I take it I'm paying this again," he said as she put it on the table.

Sam grinned and spread his hands. "What can I say? I'm a kept man."

The waitress glanced quickly at him, and then at Dean, with one of those knowing looks that Sam was rapidly becoming immune to. Dean glared at Sam, clenched his jaw in annoyance, then handed a credit card to the waitress.

"Guess I better go and earn some more this evening then, so I can keep you in the style to which you are accustomed," he said after a moment's pause.

Sam didn't let his reaction show on his face. "You're going to a bar then," he said, trying to sound casual.

"I found one yesterday with a couple of pool tables and a bunch of willing victims," said Dean. He shrugged. "We could use the cash."

Sam nodded and tried not to wonder how many of the 'willing victims' were easy women.

It wasn't until they were leaving the restaurant that Dean asked, "Do you want to come?"

Sam shook his head without thinking about it. Sitting in the motel room, imagining Dean flirting with everything that moved wasn't the best way to spend an evening, but it was better than watching the reality and trying not to let his feelings show.

"I'm going to reread the stuff in Dad's journal, maybe check online as well, and see if I can find a place to start the research tomorrow."

Dean nodded, and Sam could see he was relieved. "Well, I'll be back later then. Leave the door unlocked."

 

 

****

 

 

Dean didn't get in until after one. He'd played enough pool to get them cash for the next week or so, then met a very accommodating woman called Candice, who'd blown him in the toilets, then let him fuck her in the back of her car. He'd buried herself in her, and tried to let her perfume block out all other thoughts, but he'd still found himself thinking about Sam as he came.

When he crept in, Sam was fast asleep, sprawled across his bed fully clothed and with their Dad's journal clutched to his chest. Dean carefully eased the journal out of Sam's grip and put it on the bedside table, then unlaced and pulled off Sam's sneakers. He though for a moment about taking off his jeans as well, but when the sudden idea of waking Sam with a blowjob came to mind, he decided against it. He covered him with the spare blanket from the wardrobe instead.

Sam's face relaxed and he turned onto his side, snuggling down under the blanket with a little sigh. Dean was suddenly reminded of a younger Sam, falling asleep in the back of the Impala with his head cushioned on Dean's lap. He combated the urge to kiss Sam with this thought, reminding himself that Sam was his younger brother, that he'd looked after him his whole life and that only a sick fuck would manage to turn that into lust. One day, he hoped that he'd manage to get that through to his subconscious.

When he crawled into his own bed, he lay with his back to Sam, and it took him a long time to fall asleep.

 

 

****

 

 

 

"The thing is, I'm not sure you were worth it," said his father. Dean tore his eyes away from the version that was dying on the bed in front of him, and stared at the version standing next to him instead.

"Time of death: 10:41," said the doctor. Dean could have done without ever hearing those words again.

"I mean," said his father as the nurses pulled a sheet over his face, "obviously I did then." He turned and looked at Dean, "You're my son, and I loved you."

Dean flinched at the past tense.

"But," continued his father, "if I'd known about this..." he trailed off, his eyes fixed on something behind Dean.

Dean turned to see that they were now in a darkened motel room. Two figures on the bed moved together, breathing heavily. Dean glanced at his father with growing horror. His dad walked over to the light and flicked it on, illuminating Dean fucking Sam, driving the bed against the wall. The Dean in the bed didn't react to the light coming on, or to his father walking over and crouching next to them.

"It's disgusting," he said. "And look at your brother's face. How can you do this to him?"

Dean did look at Sam's face. His head was turned to one side, his eyes clenched shut and a tear was running down his cheek. He looked miserable and humiliated. Dean felt sick, but the Dean on the bed, the Dean fucking Sam, didn't stop. He didn't even seem to see the look on Sam's face - or maybe it was simply that he didn't care.

"They have names for people who molest their own family," said his dad, still watching Sam's anguished face. "I've been asking myself for a while now," he looked up and stared straight at Dean, "Was it worth it? Sacrificing my life for a pervert?"

The Dean on the bed suddenly came with a moan that Dean found shockingly familiar.

"I'm really not sure it was," said his father.

 

Dean awoke covered in sweat and breathing as if he'd run a race. He sat up, looked at Sam, who was still asleep, and then rushed to the bathroom, desperate to get away before Sam woke up.

He splashed cold water on his face and tried to bring his thoughts under control. That couldn’t be right, could it? He knew Sam didn't really want him, but surely if he found it so repulsive, he wouldn’t let it happen? Dean had never seen his face while they fucked - it was always too dark ( _on purpose_ , whispered a traitor voice in the back of his head, _you make sure it's dark on purpose, so you can't see what he's feeling_.) Was it possible that that was how Sam always looked?

Dean felt sick to his stomach. He stared at himself in the mirror, and had a sudden, violent urge to put his fist through it.

Dad was right. Dean's life wasn't worth his father's sacrifice. Dean had thought that since his death, privately, but this dream had made that seem so much more real. Dream? It had felt more real than a dream; the images were more vivid - burned into his mind. He could still recall exactly how Sam looked.

"Dean?" called Sam sleepily from the other room.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said, turning away from the mirror and trying to shake Sam's expression from his mind. "I'm just going to take a shower," he added.

"Right," said Sam. "I can't believe I fell asleep in my clothes," he complained.

Dean ignored him and turned on the shower. He had a sudden urge to scrub himself clean.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean wasn't able to meet Sam's eyes as they headed to the library, and the images from the dream kept popping back into his head. The same questions kept running through his mind - did Sam really hate it that much? Why didn't he say anything? Like 'no,' for example? Did his father really regret his choice?

Sam noticed that there was something up with his brother, but other than a quick, 'you okay?' he left him to brood in peace.

 _Probably just glad you're not trying to touch him_ , said the voice in the back of Dean's head.

When they got to the library, Sam started researching the town history. Dean tried to help, but found himself just staring into space, hearing his father's words over and over again, so in the end he left Sam to it and went to find some coffee.

He strode down the sidewalk, trying to get himself together so that he wasn't a complete waste of space on this hunt. A woman pushing a baby in a stroller headed towards him down the path. As they passed Dean, the baby pointed directly at Dean and mouthed 'not worth it' at him.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks and stared after them as they continued down the street. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eyes, and spun to see his father standing under a tree on the other side of the road. Dean took a step towards him, but a truck rushed by, and when it had passed, his father was gone.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean came back to the library without any coffee. He slumped down in the chair opposite Sam without saying anything and stared at the table. Sam gave him a worried look, but knew better than to press him when he was like this.

He cleared his throat and instead said, "I think I found something."

Dean looked up at him, but his expression didn't change.

"The five victims were all recently bereaved. I looked back at the records, and as far as I could tell, several other suicides around here had recent deaths in the family as well."

Dean frowned slightly. "So, what? The dead are driving their relatives to top themselves?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be."

Before he could continue, Dean sat straight up and said, "Mrs Nichols said her husband was having nightmares, didn't she? Before he died?"

Sam nodded.

Dean looked torn for a moment, and then he glanced around the library. "Let's go for a drive," he said, standing up suddenly.

Sam blinked, and then followed Dean outside without a word. He knew Dean well enough to know that something big was coming, and that Dean would find it easier to get out if Sam said nothing.

They drove out of town for about half an hour, and then Dean pulled over on a deserted road surrounded by forest. He sat for a moment with his hands clenched on the wheel, and then said, "I think I'm being haunted by Dad."

Sam had not expected that. He stared at Dean for a moment, but Dean just kept looking ahead at the trees.

"What makes you think that?" asked Sam eventually.

Dean uncurled his hands from the wheel and sat back. "I dreamt about him. And I saw him when I was awake - today and yesterday."

 _Well_ , thought Sam, _that explains the blank staring-into-space thing_.

"Dean," he said, softly. "It can't be him. We salted him before...before we burnt him."

"I know!" Dean slammed his hands on the wheel. "But we must have missed something. It was him, Sam."

Sam looked around at the trees for a moment, wondering what to say next.

"He said," Dean said very quietly, "that he regretted it. He said I wasn't worth it."

Sam didn’t need to ask what 'it' was. "Then it definitely can't have been him," he said, firmly. "He wouldn't regret that."

"Not even," said Dean so quietly that Sam wasn't sure he was meant to hear, "if I was fucking my own brother?"

It felt for a moment as if the whole world had gone silent. Neither of them had mentioned, or even made oblique reference to it before. For months they'd kept up a skilled pretence that it didn't happen. To hear Dean describe it out loud suddenly made the air feel heavy and fragile.

"Not even that," said Sam, carefully. "There's nothing that could make him regret it, Dean. He loved you."

Dean didn't look convinced.

"I think there's something here that's driving people to suicide, something that's targeting bereaved people and maybe using the forms of people they've known who died."

"Right," said Dean, sounding hoarse, "And what? I'm next?"

"I hope not," said Sam, bluntly. He hesitated, and then plunged on. "I need to know everything I can about this, if I'm going to be able to work it out. Is there anything else? What, exactly, did you see?" He knew he was pushing it - he was lucky Dean had told him anything at all.

Dean cleared his throat. "I had a couple of nightmares about...about Dad's death and him saying...that stuff. Yesterday, I saw him in the street, and today a baby told me I wasn't worth it, and when I looked round, Dad was watching."

"A baby?" asked Sam, incredulously.

"Hey," said Dean, sounding defensive, "it was a freaking creepy baby."

"Okay," said Sam with raised eyebrows. "Well, that's nightmares and hallucinations." He paused, and then couldn't resist adding, "Of creepy babies."

Dean started the car and turned back to town. "You can let that go any time, you know."

"I'm just trying to understand," said Sam, earnestly. "What made it so creepy? Did it have planes on its baby-gro?"

"Oh, I hate you," said Dean with feeling. Sam laughed.

 

 

****

 

 

They went back to the library. Sam went online and started checking some of his usual sites for mention of a creature that caused suicides. Dean flicked through Dad's journal, but didn't get far before the letters rearranged themselves to spell out PERVERT. He slammed it shut.

"I'm going to the washroom," he announced abruptly.

Sam nodded without looking up from the computer screen. "Try not to fall in," he said. Dean glared at him.

In the restroom, Dean splashed water on his face, then looked up at the mirror to see his father standing behind him. He swore and spun round, but the room was empty.

"He doesn't deserve this," whispered a voice in his ear.

Dean turned back to the mirror to see Sam standing behind him, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked back again, but the room was still empty. In the mirror, Sam kept crying.

"You're destroying him," hissed the voice.

Dean reached out a hand to the mirror and rested it on his brother's face for a moment, then turned and got out of the bathroom as quickly as he could.

He threw himself into the chair next to Sam, who was still engrossed in research.

"I think it knows we're on to it," Dean said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Sam did look up at that. "What makes you think that?"

"It's stepped up its game," replied Dean. Sam looked at him, then glanced at the bathroom.

"Wait here," he said, got up and went into it himself. Dean scowled at being told what to do, but remained where he was until Sam came out, frowning slightly. He went straight back to the computer, brought up a new window, and started typing furiously.

Dean leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. His father's image appeared on it, pointing at him accusingly. Dean started and sat bolt upright, resisting the temptation to pull out a knife and just start stabbing random people, in case they were behind it.

"I'm going to get some air," he said, desperate to get out of the library suddenly.

Sam looked up with a frown. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Got to be better than sitting here," said Dean, standing up. "Just call me if you find anything."

Sam's brow wrinkled and he looked like he was going to continue arguing, so Dean took off before he had the chance.

 

 

****

 

 

It was cold on top of the bluff and Dean was starting to wish he'd worn a jacket. He wasn't quite sure what had compelled him to come up here - just a gut feeling that this was where whatever-it-was would show itself properly, and maybe give him the chance to kill it. He peered over the edge, at the steep drop that disappeared down towards the river, and wondered if it would feel like flying to fall from here.

"You could find out," came his father's voice from behind him. "It really would be better for Sam if you did."

Dean turned to see his father standing behind him and stepped away from the cliff edge, reminding himself that Sam had said it wasn't their dad.

"I know you're not him," he said, mentally running through the weapons he was carrying for the one most likely to kill it. If it was a creature, then the silver knife in his boot was his best bet, but if it was a spirit, he'd need one of the shotguns loaded with salt, both of which were back in the car. He cursed his carelessness.

The thing shrugged. "That doesn't make what I'm saying any less true."

"And what are you saying?" asked Dean, "that I should kill myself? That wouldn't bring Dad back."

"Maybe not, but you're a degenerate pervert who's molesting his brother." Dean flinched at the harsh words, which were delivered in a matter-of-fact voice. "The world would be better off without you. Sam would be better off without you."

Dean gritted his teeth, wishing he didn't agree with it. Before he could respond, his phone rang, and he picked it up immediately.

"Sam?"

There was a burst of static that made him wince, then "...Dean, I know what..." before more static.

"Sam?" repeated Dean. "Sam, it's here."

The line got even worse, and all Dean caught of Sam's response was "where?"

"The bluffs," he said, trying not to shout it, "I'm at the bluffs."

There was silence. He looked at his phone, but the call was dead.

"Sorry," said the creature, not sounding apologetic at all, "those things never seem to work properly around me. Still," it added, "I don't suppose Sam is too upset."

Dean glared at it, and put his phone away, hoping Sam had heard where he was and knew how to kill this thing.

"He feels sick inside when you touch him, you know," it said, in a confiding tone of voice. "It's all he can do not to shudder with disgust."

Dean remembered Sam's expression in his dream, then sharply reminded himself that it hadn't been real.

"He can still feel it for days afterwards, like a growth on his skin. No matter how much he scrubs himself, he never feels clean." It took a step forward, and Dean automatically stepped backwards, his mind full of Sam's face after his long showers.

"He's torn between staying with the only family - the only person - he has left, and escaping the shame and misery that you cause him every time you molest him."

Dean was dimly aware of the sound of a car engine, but he could hardly hear anything except his father's low voice speaking out loud all the things he knew, deep down, were true and the blood rushing in his ears.

"If you jump," it continued, stepping closer again, "he'll be free of it - free of your loathsome touch and your sick behaviour. If you jump, you'll be protecting him from a pervert."

Dean was suddenly aware of how close the cliff edge was behind him and how easy it would be just to step backwards and drop hundreds of feet to the river below, ending all the pain once and for all.

A gun fired, and the creature gave a cry and then whirled round. Sam was on the road, next to the Impala's open trunk, holding a gun.

"It's a harpy, Dean," he shouted. "You need to behead it!"

Dean shook off the spell that the creature's words had wound around him, and pulled himself together. He bent down for the knife in his boot as Sam shot again, and the harpy snarled.

"No!" it cried desperately, "Jump!"

"Not this time, bitch," said Dean, and slashed at its throat with all his strength. He didn't think the knife would be big enough to cut straight through, but it sliced the harpy's head clean off as if its neck was made of butter. For a moment, he saw his father's head topple backwards, and then the harpy's body wavered and morphed into a naked woman with large, black wings and dangerously long talons.

Sam ran up as Dean stared down at her, telling himself that he'd never had even a moment's thought about jumping.

"They latch on to repressed feelings of guilt, and then drive people to suicide," explained Sam, in a hushed voice.

Dean nodded but didn't look up for a moment. "Let's torch it," he said eventually.

Sam grinned and pulled out a can of lighter fluid.

 

 

****

 

 

Sam hadn't said anything about what the harpy had said to Dean before he killed it, but he had thought about it a lot as they'd driven back to the motel and Dean had taken a shower. Dean had taken a lot of showers recently, Sam realised.

Sam stripped down to his boxers, meaning to get into bed, then found himself just sitting on the edge of his mattress, running the bit of the conversation he'd heard through in his head, and trying to work out what it meant.

It wasn't until Dean left the bathroom, took in Sam's mainly undressed state with a glance, and then walked to his own bed without saying anything or meeting Sam's eyes that Sam made a decision. It took him another ten minutes after Dean had turned out the light to act on it - ten minutes of sitting in the dark, listening to Dean breathe and second-guessing himself.

Dean gave a long exhale and shifted restlessly, and Sam decided to just stop thinking about it and just go for it. He got up, crossed to Dean's bed and sat down on it. He felt Dean tense, but he didn’t say anything. Sam could just make out Dean's shape in the dim moonlight that was seeping through the curtains and he put his hand on Dean's chest. Dean stopped breathing, and for a moment it seemed as if the whole world was holding its breath with him. Sam leant forward and kissed him, pressing his body close to Dean's. Dean let him for a couple of precious heartbeats, then pushed him away.

"Don't," he said in a harsh whisper and for a moment Sam was so surprised to hear a voice that he couldn't find the words to reply. "You...you don't have to," continued Dean, sounding as if the words were choking him.

Sam took a deep breath. "I want to," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Hearing it out loud made him realise how true it was. "I want this," he said, his voice slightly louder and steadier. He kissed Dean again, harder, and hoped that the conclusions he'd drawn from what the harpy had said wouldn't prove to be wrong.

Dean didn't kiss him back, but he didn’t push him away again either, which Sam took as an encouraging sign.

"I don't know exactly what the harpy said to you about this," he continued, growing more confident, "but she was wrong. You're not hurting me. You don't have to feel guilty about anything."

Dean remained silent, but Sam thought he could feel the tension beginning to ease from his muscles.

"So," Sam said, softly, wondering if he was pushing this too much, "I guess it's up to you. What do you want?"

Dean was still for a moment, and Sam had a horrible feeling he'd gone too far and read more into this than there was, then Dean suddenly moved forward and caught Sam's mouth in a hard, passionate kiss. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders, guiding him down onto the bed without breaking their mouths apart and Sam found himself lying on his back with Dean straddling his legs. It felt very familiar - just the same as all the other times they'd done this. He realised he didn’t want it to be the same - this was different. They'd talked about it, this meant something new.

He hooked his legs around Dean's and rolled them over until he was on top, careful of the edge of the bed. Dean didn’t seem entirely happy with the change, and there was a brief tussle for the upper hand, interspersed with more breathless kisses and nibbling bites, and at some point Dean lost his shirt. Sam won when he managed to distract Dean by kissing down his neck and across his chest. He bit lightly around Dean's nipples, soothing the scrapes with his tongue until Dean arched and gasped into his touch. Dean's erection pressed against his stomach so he slipped his hand between them and into Dean's boxers, wrapping his fingers around the heated flesh. Dean moaned and thrust his hips up as Sam stroked his dick a few more times; revelling in the power it gave him and the reaction he got from Dean.

He pulled Dean’s underwear off, tossing them away and bending to press open-mouthed kisses to his brother's chest. Dean ran his hands down Sam’s back making him shiver slightly, and when his fingers reached the waistband of Sam’s boxers, he pushed back, instinctively wanting to feel Dean’s hands lower down. Dean tugged at the material, obviously impatient for them to be gone, and Sam complied, wriggling around until he got them off. As Sam pressed his body against Dean’s, their cocks rubbed together, drawing a moan from both of their throats and causing them to thrust together.

"Dean," whispered Sam, breaking the atmosphere of silence that had always surrounded this, deliberately trying to prevent them falling back into the same pattern. Dean didn't say anything, but he thrust upwards again.

"Dean," said Sam, slightly louder, "Dean, can I...I want to..." he trailed off, not sure how to phrase his request.

"You asked me what I wanted," said Dean, his voice lacking its usual confidence. The sound of his voice in the dark suddenly made it all seem so real, and Sam had a sudden moment of _I'm actually here, doing this, with Dean_ which made him a little giddy.

"Yeah," he said, happy to give Dean the choice - hopefully there'd be plenty of other occasions for them to try everything. "What do you want?" His voice came out sounding a little husky.

"I want..." Dean’s voice wavered for a moment, and then became steady. "I want you to fuck me."

Hearing those words out loud made Sam's head spin for a moment, as all the blood headed south to his cock. "God, yes," he said fervently.

Dean surged up and kissed him, and Sam just lost himself in the sensation of being there, his naked body pressed against Dean's.

Dean pulled open the bedside drawer and got out a bottle of lube, which he pressed into Sam's hand, before kissing him again and stroking his hands down over Sam's hips. Sam held the lube for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He'd never done this before - Dean had always been the one to take control, the one who'd known what he was doing. Dean turned onto his stomach beneath Sam and spread his legs, making it obvious what he wanted.

 _This isn't like the other times_ , Sam reminded himself. He flicked the cap open and spread some of it liberally on his fingers. Dean turned slightly and Sam could see his eyes glittering in the dim light as Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and slid his brother's hand down his back until it reached the curve of his ass. He let Sam's hand go as Sam slipped his fingers into the cleft, telling himself that he could do this. Dean hissed and arched back as Sam's finger slid over his hole and then he pushed himself back onto his hands and knees as Sam's finger slipped inside. Sam inhaled sharply; it was both hotter and tighter than he'd been expecting.

Dean gave a shuddering breath, then pushed backwards against Sam's hand and Sam tried to remember what Dean usually did. He pressed his finger further inside Dean, then pulled it out a bit and pushed it back in, making Dean’s breathing pick up. Sam spent a couple more minutes pushing and thrusting with one finger, then carefully started to work another inside.

"Sammy," exhaled Dean.

Sam grinned to himself in the darkness, and kissed the nearest part of Dean that he could reach, which was his back. Dean planted his knees more securely and pushed back, impaling himself further on Sam's fingers. Sam crooked them slightly, and then scissored them slowly while Dean pushed back harder and gasped, "More, Sam, now."

Sam leant forward and kissed down Dean's back as he drew his fingers out, then pushed back inside with three fingers. Dean threw his head back, moaning, and Sam had to fight the urge to just pull out his fingers and replace them with his cock. He wasn't sure how much Dean had done this before - he tried not to think about all those endless-seeming nights when Dean had disappeared with random men. He didn’t want to rush this and hurt Dean, but every moment of feeling Dean's muscles clenching and relaxing around his fingers, and hearing the soft sounds he was making, was driving Sam crazy.

Sam angled his fingers up slightly and hit Dean's prostate. Dean gave a cry. "Now," he said, breathlessly, "do it now."

Sam nodded, even though Dean couldn't see it, and pulled his fingers out. He slicked some lube around his cock and carefully repositioned himself, sending up a quick prayer that he didn't do something wrong and hurt Dean, before carefully pushing himself inside Dean.

He gasped at the hot, tight pressure as Dean's muscles reflexively contracted and then relaxed as Dean accepted Sam into his body. Dean braced his arms and pressed back, pushing himself onto Sam’s cock.

"Fuck, Sam," he muttered. "Fuck."

Sam was unable to reply. His whole mind was centred on the feeling of being inside Dean, of having Dean surround him. He was a little afraid of what would come out if he did open his mouth - a torrent of love and need might make things awkward in the morning. Although this felt different and new, Sam wasn't sure what it meant, what Dean wanted it to be.

Dean shifted beneath Sam, and he took that as a signal to pull out and thrust back in. Dean swore breathlessly, so Sam did it again and Dean surged underneath him, swearing in a low, rough voice. He curled his fingers around his cock, jacking himself off with fast, hard strokes. Sam sped up his movement and felt himself getting close to the edge as Dean suddenly thrust backwards and came, calling out Sam's name. Sam felt his balls tighten at the feeling of Dean's muscles clenching around him in orgasm, and then he was coming too, gasping and shaking.

He remained as he was for a moment, and tried to get his breathing under control. Underneath him, he could hear Dean doing the same. He carefully pulled himself out of Dean, and Dean fell forwards onto the bed. Sam paused for a moment, just wanting to collapse beside Dean and fall asleep with him, but unsure if Dean would welcome that.

Now that the sex was over, Sam suddenly found himself back in the position of having no idea what Dean thought about this, or what he wanted from Sam. They'd taken a step forward, but it was just towards them both acknowledging the sexual attraction. Whether this meant anything more, whether Dean felt that there was more to this than just sex...Sam hesitated for several long moments, then Dean reached out an arm and pulled him down beside him. Sam relaxed against Dean's body and tried not to worry about what would happen in the morning.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean woke up slowly, only peripherally aware of the warm body draped over his, their legs tangled together and a warm arm heavy on his chest. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts enough to remember what had happened the night before, and then he was wide-awake in an instant. His eyes flew open and he stared at Sam, who was fast asleep and wrapped around him like an octopus. For a few seconds he was unable to form a coherent thought - just a rush of shock. He watched Sam sleep, remembering how he'd said that the harpy had been wrong, that he wanted the same things Dean did. Dean wondered if he could trust Sam's words or whether he'd just been trying to make Dean feel better. He'd seemed pretty sincere when he’d said it, but Sam had always been better than was good for him at lying.

Sam's eyes blinked open slowly and his gaze locked with Dean's. There was an awkward pause while they both waited for the other to say something, then Sam carefully pulled his arm away from Dean and rubbed his face.

"What time is it?" he said, still sounding half-asleep.

Dean reached out for his watch, deciding that if Sam was going to try and pretend that this was normal, the least he could do was act the same. "Eight forty," he said, then put the watch back on the bedside table.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "That's kinda late." He didn't move to get up though, so Dean didn’t move either. He was tempted to kiss Sam, but with the daylight streaming into the room, it felt too real. What if Sam only wanted him in the dark? Dean still couldn’t shake the image of Sam's face distorted with misery - what if he kissed him and Sam was unable to keep his true feelings off his face?

"So, what's the plan for today?" asked Sam. His hand crept forward until his fingers brushed Dean's arm. Dean inhaled at the touch, and his mind started to race again. What was Sam thinking?

"I don't think there is one," he said, trying to keep his voice steady as Sam's fingers stroked along his arm. "At some point we need to find another job." He turned onto his side towards Sam and suddenly his brother’s face seemed very close. Sam moved his hand so that it was resting lightly on Dean's side, and Dean's skin seemed to tingle under his touch.

"So, we can just chill out today then?" Sam said, with a hint of a smile.

Dean steeled himself for rejection, then brought his own hand up to cover Sam's. Sam intertwined their fingers and his smile widened, although he was watching Dean's face very closely, as if worried that Dean was about to pull away. Dean decided that it was time he stopped being a pussy about this and just went for it. He moved the few inches towards Sam and kissed him. Sam's fingers clenched around Dean's, and then he was kissing him back, soft and warm.

When Dean pulled back he searched Sam's eyes for any trace of disgust, but all he could see was arousal. He moved in for another kiss, this one deeper and wetter, their tongues entwining as he pushed Sam onto his back and moved on top of him, still searching for a hint that Sam didn't want this. Sam smiled up at him and spread his legs in an unmistakable invitation.

Dean drank in the want on Sam's face. It was surreal to be doing this in daylight, to be able to see Sam's reaction - and to be unable to hide his own. He ran his hands down Sam's chest and watched the way his nipples pebbled when he flicked them gently with his finger. Sam stretched out an arm and grabbed the lube from the bedside table with a movement that made his rapidly-hardening cock rub against Dean's. Dean sucked in a breath of air and thrust down, making Sam gasp as he handed the lube to Dean.

"My turn," he said, his eyes black with desire. Dean held the lube for a moment and remembered the look of misery and humiliation that Sam had worn in his nightmare. Sam pressed up against Dean's cock again. "Please?"

Dean couldn't say no to that, so he popped open the lid and covered his fingers, then moved backwards into a better position. They'd done this often enough before that Dean felt he could start with two fingers, carefully working them in while Sam groaned, then thrusting and scissoring until he could feel Sam opening up for him. He kept his eyes glued on Sam's face; ready to stop the instant Sam didn't look like he wanted this. Sam writhed and gasped beneath him and it was the hottest thing Dean had ever seen. He realised that he wasn't going to last very long if he had to watch Sam spread out and wanton beneath him for much longer, so he pulled his fingers out with a slick pop.

He was still gazing into Sam's eyes as he slid inside him in one slow, steady movement. Sam stared back without a trace of unhappiness, and hissed out Dean's name. Dean paused for a moment when he was fully inside, feeling the tight heat of Sam around him and wondering how something that felt so good could be so wrong. Sam shifted beneath him and wrapped his legs tightly around Dean's waist, changing the angle so that Dean could drive in deeper. Dean pulled out most of the way, and then thrust back inside, careful not to push too hard, too quick. Sam moaned and clenched his muscles around Dean, squirming upwards in a way that made the breath catch in Dean's throat. Dean started pounding into him with hard, long strokes, watching Sam's face. Sam had his eyes shut, and his head thrown back, exposing his long neck while he gasped in huge lungfuls of air and thrust back in time with Dean's strokes.

Dean sped up his movements and managed enough coordination to wrap a hand around Sam's cock and pull him off. Sam gave a soft cry at the sensation, then his eyes flew open and locked on Dean's as he came, shooting come all over his stomach. Dean took in every detail that he could of Sam's expression as he let go and came apart. He thrust into Sam another couple of times, and then he was coming as well, with a hoarse grunt of “Sammy!”

He collapsed down onto Sam, unable to get his thoughts together. Sam's arms tightened instinctively around him and Dean thought about resisting - he wasn't a cuddler, dammit - but it felt nice to have his body pressed so close to Sam's. Besides, he probably owed Sam for letting him pound his ass like that.

They lay in silence for a while, getting their breathing under control and feeling the sweat cool on their skin.

"So," said Sam, slowly, "are we doing this then?"

"We just did, didn't we?" replied Dean, wondering why Sam had to break the moment with unnecessary questions.

"No, I mean...are we..."

"I know what you mean," interrupted Dean. He paused. "I guess we are." He lifted his head and looked at Sam. "If that's what you want."

Sam looked back at him, and Dean was surprised to see how content he looked. "Yeah, I want."

"Then I guess we're doing this then," said Dean, and was rewarded by a blindingly bright grin from Sam. He lay his head back down and smiled to himself, trying not to think about all the ways this could go horribly wrong.

"I think I have a plan for the rest of the day," announced Sam. He rolled them over until he was braced above Dean, and then kissed him hard. "Lots more of this."

Dean grinned and kissed him back.

 

 


	3. There's A Shadow Hanging Over Me

Her name was Pam and she was a waitress in a diner just off Route 6. She was blonde and perky, and wearing a very revealing top. Dean had lit up at the sight of her, and given her a very sleazy look before they'd even sat down. Sam gritted his teeth and reminded himself whose name Dean had been calling out last night. And this morning. And about half an hour ago, pulled over in a lay-by.

It had only got worse when she'd come over to take their order. "What can I get you?' she asked, biting the end of her pen with her eyes fixed on Dean.

Dean grinned back at her. "I'm finding it hard to choose." His eyes flickered down her body. "It all looks good."

She giggled and flicked her hair. Sam clenched his jaw. _It's just Dean,_ he reminded himself, _just Dean, flirting with anything with a pulse like he always does. At least he's not sleeping with them anymore._ He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that whispered _are you sure?_ and snapped out his order.

Pam wrote it down, frowning slightly at his rude tone. Sam slumped down in his seat and stared at the coffee stains on the table. Dean gave Pam his order with a grin that earned him a wink, then gave Sam a puzzled look as she disappeared towards the kitchen.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Fine," said Sam, abruptly. Dean had entirely failed to pick up on Sam's increasing frustration with his flirting and Sam didn't intend to tell him. For one thing, he wasn't sure that their relationship was the kind where he was entitled to feel upset about it, and for another, he didn't want to get accused of being a girl.

"Right," said Dean, disbelievingly, but let it go with a long-suffering sigh when Sam didn't reply.

They sat in silence until Pam brought their plates over and set them down with her eyes fixed on Dean.

"Call me over if you need anything," she said, emphasising 'anything.' She reached a hand inside her blouse and pulled out a slip of paper, which she handed to Dean. "And if that doesn't work, here's my number."

Dean took the paper with a grin. "We'll be sure and do that," he said smarmily. Sam felt like he wanted to puke.

It all suddenly became too much for him, and the last few weeks of watching Dean flirt with everyone while he sat and brooded came crashing down on him. He was unable to stop "for fuck's sake!" from bursting out of him. He stood up, pushed his chair back with a squeal and rushed out of the diner.

He heard Dean call his name behind him, then curse as Sam ignored him. Sam strode out into the parking lot, past the Impala, and around the corner of the diner. He stopped and leaned against the wall, clenching his fists and letting his head fall back with a thump. He heard Dean's footsteps crunching over the gravel towards him, but didn't look up or acknowledge him.

"What the hell was that about?" demanded Dean.

Sam did look up at that, and was unable to stop the words flowing out of him.

"Jesus, Dean! Do you really think I want to sit there and watch that?" Frustration rose up in him, and it felt so solid that he might choke on it. "I get it, ok? I get it. You could have anyone - I know that. There's no need to rub it in all the time." Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion, and Sam just felt weary of it all. He slid down the wall and sat down on the gravel. "I know it's none of my business, but if you.." he choked and put his hands in his hair, staring at the gravel in front of him. "If you could just...just tone it down a little around me, it'd be easier."

There was silence for a few moments. Sam, now regretting saying anything and feeling like an idiot, stared hard at the gravel. Most of it was a grey-blue colour, but there was the occasional white stone scattered around. He wondered what Dean would say as he walked away.'Let me know when you grow a pair, Samantha,' probably. Sam wondered if he'd  
fuck Pam before or after he ate his lunch.

Dean didn't leave though. He crouched down beside Sam in silence for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I didn't realise."

Sam's head whipped up at that, and he stared at Dean.

Dean looked solemn and earnest. "It...I won't do it again," he continued.

Sam laughed bitterly at that, unable to stop himself. "Yeah, until the next time," he said. "It's part of who you are, Dean." He stood up, and Dean rose with him, frowning again. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have said anything." Sam started to walk back to the diner, but Dean followed him and put his hand on Sam's chest to stop him.

"Don't act like it doesn't matter when it clearly does," he said, sounding annoyed. "We're...we've..." he faltered, then visibly pulled himself together. "Whatever this is, it means more than that."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then covered the hand on his chest with his own. "Dean..." he started, but Dean interrupted him.

"I want you to be happy," he said, his voice firmer as if this was something he was sure of. "You have to tell me when something like this is bothering you."

Sam searched his eyes for a moment, then said, very carefully, "I'd prefer it if you flirted less."

Dean nodded. "Right." He hesitated for a moment, glancing towards the diner windows, where Sam could see Pam watching them curiously as she topped up someone's coffee.

When he turned back to Sam, he had a glint in his eyes and his lips were curved up into a wickedly sexy smirk. Sam only got to feel apprehensive for a moment before Dean grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and pushed him backwards until his back hit the window of the diner with a resounding thud. He could feel the glass vibrating from the force of his body, then all he could feel was Dean.

Dean pressed up against him, leg pushed between Sam's, hands still gripping the material of Sam's hoodie, making him bend down slightly so Dean could smash their lips together. It was hard and desperate, Dean's mouth slick and open against his, tongue sliding out and coaxing Sam to let him in.

Sam was amazed. Dean hated what he called 'those girly displays of public fondling' and resisted them at all costs, and now he was initiating one. Not that there was anything girly about this, thought Sam as one of Dean's hands relaxed its grip on Sam's jumper and slid up his chest to tangle in his hair, pulling his mouth down more firmly to press against Dean's. Sam grabbed Dean's hips and pulled them harder against his, opening his mouth and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Dean made a noise in the back of his throat, pulled Sam's lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it for a moment before scraping his teeth over it and releasing it with a wet pop. They both panted together for a moment, still so close they could taste each other's breath. When they finally pulled apart, Sam looked back into the diner to see Pam standing frozen, coffee pot gripped tightly in her fist as she gaped at the brothers.

"Now," said Dean, the exasperation in his voice softened by his grin. "Can we please eat already? I'm starving."

"Sure," said Sam, feeling slightly dazed and unable to keep a grin off his face. As they headed back towards the diner door, he kept hold of Dean's hand despite Dean's brief attempt to pull it away. It might be petty, but he had a point to prove to Pam.

She gave them a stunned look as they re-entered and sat back down, and was unable to meet their eyes when she brought the check later. Sam smirked at her behind Dean's back as they left, but made sure they'd left a large tip. After all, he could afford to be generous in victory.


	4. What Is Wrong With Another Sin?

_It shouldn't feel this good_ , thought Dean, bracing himself on the headboard of the bed as Sam thrust into him, hitting his prostate and making him moan. It really shouldn't feel this good to be fucked by his baby brother. He arched his back, pushing against his brother and clenched his muscles around Sam.

"Dean," Sam groaned, and Dean wondered what he'd done to deserve to hear that tone in his brother's voice. Or what had happened to the guilt and the shame that used to saturate the sex.

Sam pushed back into him and Dean could feel that he was close. He took one hand off the headboard in order to grasp his own cock and started to pump it in a hard and fast rhythm, twisting his wrist at the end, catching the tip of his finger on the sensitive spot under the head.

Somewhere between learning the way Sam's breathing changed when he was close to coming, and getting used to being able to persuade him to have sex just about anywhere with a couple of hard kisses and a quick grope, the guilt had just melted away.

Sam's breathing hitched, and he slammed into Dean again, pushing him forward and came, gasping, "Dean, oh god, Dean."

Dean sped up his strokes as he felt Sam's hot seed fill him, and his balls tightened as he followed Sam, coming all over the ugly bedspread. For a moment, there was silence apart from their panting. Sam smiled widely, pulled carefully out of Dean with an exhalation of breath, and then collapsed on top of him. Dean's arms seemed to fall naturally into place around him.

It definitely shouldn't feel this good to be cuddling with his brother in a post-coital haze, he thought. Sam switched out the light and then gave a little sigh of contentment. Dean decided to stop wondering where the guilt had gone and to just enjoy being exactly where he wanted to be, with exactly who he wanted to be there with.

Sam's breathing evened out and became shallower. Dean pressed a careful kiss against Sam's hair, shut his eyes and slid gently down into sleep.

 

 


	5. No Room At The Inn

It had been a really long day of driving followed by a fight with a really angry water-spirit who managed to cover Dean in something green, sticky and very unpleasant. And then, on top of it all, all the motels were full because there was some big Blues Festival going on in the city. So, feeling a bit like Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem and hoping like hell that he wasn't Mary, Sam had asked the guy at the last one if he knew any other places in town that might have a couple of beds free. He'd directed them to a backpacker's hostel, which had managed to find them free beds in a ten-sleeper dorm.

Dean had, of course, dumped his bag on the lower bunk. He had an attitude that the only reason God had made Sam so tall was so that he could get up onto top bunks easier, and that it would be sacrilegious not to take advantage.

The bunk squeaked every time either of them moved and there were eight other people in the room, all of them trying to sleep, but Sam really wasn't surprised when Dean climbed up the ladder as stealthily as he could. He clambered onto the bed, amidst a lot of squeaking that Sam tried to cover by faking a coughing fit, and then lay down next to Sam, crowding him against the wall.

Sam opened his mouth to whisper something sarcastic about Dean's ability to survive without sex, but Dean pressed a finger to Sam’s lips before Sam could get a word out. Sam took his point - if they were going to avoid waking the whole dorm up, they were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Still, he resented Dean's attitude, and so he licked the finger, and then gently bit on it. Dean shuddered slightly beside him, and then slid his other hand down to Sam's boxers. Sam was already hard, and Dean rubbed his erection through the thin material. Sam concentrated very hard on keeping his breathing quiet.

Dean carefully pushed his hand inside Sam's underwear and then just rested his fingertips on Sam's cock for a moment, teasing him. Sam bit down harder on Dean's finger, until Dean relented and wrapped his hand around Sam's dick and pulled hard. Sam took a deep breath, which sounded horribly loud in the stillness of the room, and Dean paused again. Sam struggled to make his breathing sound more natural, and wondered why he was letting Dean get away with this. He should have made him go back to his own bed when he first crawled up there. He knew why, though, deep down. Any sign that Dean wanted him too much to let common sense get in his way, and Sam let him get away with anything.

Dean's hand started moving again, and Sam shut his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Dean's hand on his cock, hard and firm. He tried to keep his breathing even, but it was hard with Dean pressed up against him, speeding up his strokes and gently kissing the side of Sam's neck. Sam could feel himself getting close to the edge, and he lost control of his breathing and then came biting down hard on Dean's finger, trying to keep himself from making any more noise.

Dean eased his hand out of Sam's boxers and then wiped it on the outside of them. Sam tried not to think about how obvious that stain was going to be in the morning. Well, it wasn't like he was going to be able to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room anyway.

Sam lay still for a moment, trying to recover a bit. He could feel Dean getting impatient beside him, pressing his erection into Sam's leg in an obvious manner. Sam didn't move - he just let Dean squirm for a bit. Served him right for starting this.

Dean poked Sam's side, and when that didn't get a response, took Sam's hand and placed it on the bulge in his boxers. Sam grinned in the dark and gently squeezed it. Dean gave a tiny sigh, and Sam took the opportunity to take his hand away again, and press a finger over Dean's lips to remind him to be quiet. Dean made a very frustrated sound in his throat, which sounded horribly loud in the dark.

Very slowly, trying to keep the bed from squeaking too much, Sam sat up and moved over so that Dean had enough room to lie down on his back. Sam ran a hand down Dean's chest and felt rather than heard him inhale at the touch.

Sam rested his hand on Dean's stomach for a moment and wondered how good Dean's self control was. He really liked the idea of torturing Dean a bit and getting him back for putting them in this position in the first place.

He bent down and put his lips right next to Dean's ear, then said in an almost inaudible breath of a whisper, "If I hear you make a single sound, I'll stop." Dean nodded his understanding.

Still moving very carefully, and pausing every time the bed squeaked too loudly to listen for any signs that anyone else in the room was awake, Sam crawled down to the end of the bed, and knelt between Dean's legs.

He pulled Dean's boxers down as far as he could, then carefully licked up Dean's cock. Dean went very still, but he didn't make a noise. Sam was impressed. He did it again, just to test Dean's willpower. Then he carefully wrapped his mouth around the head of Dean's dick and sucked gently, listening to Dean's breathing become heavier. Sam ran his tongue over the slit, wondering how much he could tease Dean before it became cruel.

After a moment, Dean's hands came up and curled around the back of his head. He licked the slit again, and sucked gently, then moved slightly up, as if he was going to sit back again. Dean wasn't having that - he pushed down hard, and Sam took the hint, taking as much of Dean's cock into his mouth as he could and sucking hard. Dean's hands clutched at Sam's hair, but the only sound he made was a sudden inhale. Sam thought that level of control deserved a reward, so he ran his tongue up the underside of Dean's cock, and continued sucking. Dean's hands started to pull Sam's hair painfully, but Sam didn't stop him. Without the usual litany of gasps, moans and breathless 'Sammy's’, it was nice to have a sign that Dean was enjoying this.

It might have been the effort of keeping silent, or maybe the fact that there were eight other people in the room, but Dean didn't last long. Sam could feel him getting close, and brought a hand up to stroke his balls while sucking as hard as he could. Dean came silently, although his hands pulled at Sam's hair so hard that Sam thought he was going to pull it out. Sam tried not to choke as Dean's come filled his mouth and swallowed it quickly - nothing would ever get him used to the bitter taste.

He felt Dean's hands relax their grip on his head, and he sat back. He carefully moved back up to the bed, and pressed a kiss against Dean's lips. Dean lazily stroked his upper arm, and Sam realised that Dean was now completely relaxed, and rapidly falling asleep. He shook Dean's shoulder, trying to rouse him and get him to go back to his own bunk. Dean didn't move.

Sam bent back down to Dean's ear again and hissed in it, "Time to go back to your own bed."

Dean patted his shoulder and mumbled, "Thanks, Sammy. That was great. Love you."

He trailed off at the end of the sentence, and Sam knew he was asleep. He sat up and considered his options, then carefully started his way down the ladder, wincing at every squeak. He just had to hope that no one noticed that they'd swapped beds during the night.


End file.
